


play something slow

by xxCat_Moonxx



Category: Agent Carter (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Ending, F/M, Headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29185611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxCat_Moonxx/pseuds/xxCat_Moonxx
Summary: 'Daniel had seen men get shot before. It wasn’t like in the pictures. He hadn’t seen anyone crumple like that since the war. She hadn’t been shot, but for all intents and purposes, she might as well have been. Shot right in the heart. Shot with the shrapnel of news that Steve Rogers was alive.'Four years ago, Peggy was promised a dance. She had made her peace with the idea that this promise would never be fulfilled. But when the impossible happens, and the band plays something slow, decisions need to be made, and peace is a hard thing to hold on to.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa
Kudos: 10





	play something slow

**Author's Note:**

> basically a piecemeal of POV fragments set around the end of Endgame because my little PeggySous heart couldn't handle it. I am not anti-Steggy but no matter what Marvel says, to me, PeggySous will always be the real endgame... so this is me making that happen, at least for me and for anyone else disappointed be the end of Endgame. enjoy xxx

_Daniel had seen men get shot before. It wasn’t like in the pictures; there was muttering, clutching- it could take minutes to bleed out, not one blast and the body crashes from the balcony. It was a slow crumple, like someone was drawing all the strength you had in your legs to stand._

_He hadn’t seen anyone crumple like that since the war._

_But as Peggy clutched at her chest, she started to sway, and Daniel watched helplessly as the familiar crumple began. At the front, he had become used to it, but here, within the safety of the SSR Headquarters, everything around him faded away, and all he could see was her, folding, seemingly in slow motion. He reached out to steady her, but she was already on the ground, looking lost and forlorn, like she herself didn’t even know why she had fallen._

_But Daniel did. He knew with absolute certainty. She hadn’t been shot, but for all intents and purposes, she might as well have been. Shot right in the heart._

_Shot with the shrapnel of news that Steve Rogers was alive._

***

The coffee bubbled with devastating leisure as Peggy ran an impatient hand through the mess atop her head. The updo from the day before had slipped halfway across her head , leaving stray tendrils stuck to her still made up face as evidence of her fretful tossing. Though her eyes were heavy, burdened with the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts, her eye makeup had not rubbed off. Her lipstick, however, had left a crimson trail on the pillow that would take some combination of elbow grease, club soda and prayer to remove.

She pushed the coffee pot further onto the counter and hitched her dressing gown back onto her shoulder. Music. Music could lift her spirits. She made a beeline for the sitting room and turned the radio on at full volume. She was treated to a deafening blast from a swinging jazz band. Whatever. At least it drowned out the endless loop in her mind, repeating last night’s conversation with relentless fervour.

***

“God, Daniel, why do you always have to be so bloody heroic?” Peggy cried.

“Excuse me? You’re lashing out at me?” it was the first time since Daniel had raised his voice at her since the night Jason Wilkes had held them at gunpoint. But, exhausted after a day of work, his leg stung from running back and forth through the archive, and he hadn’t held Peggy in his arms for days. It was beginning to take its toll on even his usual calm.

“I know you don’t want to be doing this. I _know_ this is killing you. And I know there’s nothing in the world you’d want more than for Steve to stay buried six feet under the ground.”

Her words were met with a crushing silence.

Peggy’s hand flew to her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, “I didn’t mean that.”

“Are you sure?” he bit out.

Peggy nodded, albeit feebly.

“I’m sorry Daniel. This is hard. For both of us. I just wish you’d talk about it.”

“Because you’ve done so much of that yourself.”

The look in her chestnut eyes was so wounded, he would, on any other day, have wrapped her in his arms and kissed her hair and rocked her to make it go away. He but he was so beyond caring that night, he didn’t even notice that his not caring was a bad sign.

He sighed. “What do you want me to say Peg?” 

Peggy shrugged. “Anything.” 

At last, Daniel found the presence of mind to lower himself into the rocking chair beside their bed, which Peggy usually reserved for reading late into the night when he was already sound asleep. He hated rocking chairs. They reminded him too much of the wheelchairs in the army hospital. But he was so weary, he would have sat on a pile of burning coals is it meant a moment off of his feet.

His knee joint clicked as he sat down, and he felt his leg shoot out, just a centimetre. It probably wasn’t visible under his voluminous trousers- he had often wondered if the men’s fashions of the day had been invented to hide the damage that Hitler had done to their bodies- but it was enough to burn out the last shred of patience he had left. He thumped his crutch angrily on the floor.

Peggy flinched.

Never, since Daniel had met her, had he seen her flinch like that. Not even when she had torn her stitches from the rebar accident.

“Daniel?” she said, her hand twitching as if she was about to reach out to him, but then reconsidered. It was for the better. He didn’t think he could handle her warm touch right now. “Please say something.”

“Do you still love him?”

***

With her coffee finally ready, Peggy headed for her vanity, nipping at the scolding bitter liquid that she had never enjoyed, having always preferred tea. The new Sunbeam Coffeemaster had been a gift for Daniel, who couldn’t be considered conscious in the morning without half a cup of the stuff in him. The familiar scent of it filled her entire being as she fixed her hair and re-applied her makeup, ready for the day. Every breath and every sip smelled and tasted like him. On any other morning the scent would have warmed her heart even as she lamented its pungency; today, it pinched and stung it.

He had not come back. All night she had waited, awoken periodically, expecting to find the shape of him next to her; muscular, warm and reliable. But she had woken to a cold, empty stretch of sheet each time. And no wonder. Last night, when her eyes had finally fallen shut, her mind had been nursing the hypothesis that she had simply wanted Daniel to be honest with her- he had misinterpreted her intentions and stormed out needlessly. Countless short bouts of wakefulness later, she had painfully admitted to herself that she had been spoiling for a fight, had pushed and provoked and chastised him for a reaction. But now, in the light of day, it none of it mattered, really; she had demanded honesty, but she had not reacted well when she got it- he had pushed his emotions aside for her benefit, but he had not been delicate in revealing them... all she knew now was that a part of her was missing, and she wanted it back. She wanted him back. 

Peggy glanced at herself in the full-length mirror behind the bedroom door. Not a trace of her tormented night remained in her appearance. How easily her job infiltrated her daily life- disguises, deceptions. All in a day’s work. Today, she was going undercover as Peggy Carter, running errands on her day off- as herself. How ironic. She felt nothing like it.

She grabbed her purse and slipped into a coat and shoes, then went to turn the radio off. She had not reached the living room when a knock on the door stopped her in her tracks. Peggy’s hand flew to her chest. She could feel her heart racing underneath.

She drew a calming breath, then went to opened the door.

On her front step stood a familiar figure, holding a bunch of orange flowers.

“Is this a bad time?”

***

The words were out of his mouth before his brain had time to censor them.

Peggy’s torso shot bolt upright. Her painted lips opened a crack, and then closed again. Once, twice... three times as her eyes darted about, looking for the answer in the room.

She looked like she had short circuited.

Daniel lifted his palms to the ceiling demonstratively.

“No, Daniel!” Peggy snapped, “I’m just... I didn’t expect... what do you- I mean...”

Daniel gave a bitter laugh- it was the only thing he could do to stop hateful tears from escaping his eyes. Men don’t cry, he told himself, in his general’s voice, for whatever reason. 

“He was right,” his lips moved without consent, forming words his brain would never approve of.

“Who was right?”

He tried for a customarily nonchalant shrug. He never usually said anything aloud he hadn’t carefully weighed out in his mind, and he wasn’t about to give in to his split second of weakness. “Forget about it.”

“Daniel... please, talk to me.”

“Walter.” Now he’d done it.

“Dear old Walter,” she said under her breath, and Daniel noticed the corners of Peggy’s lips twitching upwards, even today. They had called Agent Krzeminski that since Jack’s pep-talk in the bullpen. Normally it was a private joke between them.

“What did Krzeminski say?”

 _This_ was why he never usually let himself speak before thinking, especially around vigilant Peggy. Now he’d have to answer for the slip of his tongue.

“It doesn’t matter. He was a jackass,” he tried to worm his way out of the conversation, but Peggy wasn’t having any of it.

“It mattered enough for you to say it.”

Daniel’s hand clenched around the grip of his crutch. “Really, Peg, it doesn’t matter. Just let it -”

“Oh, for God’s sake Daniel, if you’re going to start saying it then at least have the guts to fi-”

“Fine!” Daniel gritted his teeth. “He said...” the words caught in his throat, but he willed himself to carry on, forcing them out as one, long, aching syllable, “He said no woman in the world would trade in a red, white and blue shield for an aluminium crutch.”

His words hung in the air, a dark cloud over both their heads, painfully real, and painfully true.

Slowly, Daniel raised his gaze to meet Peggy’s eyes. It was a peace offering of sorts, a declaration of ceasefire. He had said his bit, she had said hers, so now they could at last try and catch some sleep.

But the second his glance locked with hers, he saw he was mistaken, as Peggy’s eyes welled with tears.

She brushed them away angrily.

“Well...” she breathed, “there you go.”

Daniel passed his free hand over his jaw, which was beginning to sprout stubble.

“I’m sorry, Peg,” he began, but she cut him short.

“Can I ask you one thing, Daniel?” she drew a deep breath, “Do you really believe that?”

He could do no more than stare into her eyes, praying that something in them would tell him not to believe it. But maybe because he was so bone tired, or maybe because there was nothing there, he couldn’t deny that he did, at least in that moment.

In lieu of a reply, he levered himself out of the chair, and reached across to stroke the side of Peggy’s face. She tensed up, but, to her credit, did not flinch away.

“It’s been a rough day,” he said at last, “you should get some sleep.”

“So should you.”

Daniel shrugged. “Not yet. Got to clear my head. Go for a drive, maybe.”

“Ok,” she nodded, “Where are you going.”

“Don’t know. Don’t wait up, though.”

With that, he let go of Peggy’s face and limped to the door. He often went for drives when he was feeling out of sorts- way back before the war, he would have gone for a long walk to clear his mind, but for obvious reasons, that was rarely an option these days. Ordinarily, before leaving, he would have turned around to Peggy and told her he loved her. But when he stopped briefly at the door, something inside him balked. He couldn’t love her; not today. The idea that she wouldn’t be able to say it back was too much to bear.

So, he simply swung the bedroom door open and headed out of the house, without glancing back.

***

Peggy felt her pulse catch in her throat.

“Steve...”

“Am I bothering you?”

“I,” Peggy stammered, “I have... errands. To run. I have to run some errands.”

Steve nodded, never anything but understanding. He extended the flowers to her. “I just wanted to give you these. “

Peggy took the flowers from him, and, feeling that she should say something, attempted a simple “Thank you. I should put these in water.” But Steve was still stood there. What had she expected- that her words would magically make him disappear? Peggy heaved a sigh. She knew she was going to regret what she was about to say. 

“You might as well come in.”

Peggy went to retrieve a vase from the kitchen, acutely aware that Steve was following her every move. Every noise- the cupboard door creaking open, the radio running in the living room, the clatter of glass and porcelain, the rush of the water from the faucet as she filled the vase- amplified in the weighty silence that spread between them. Peggy took her time arranging the flowers and placing them on the counter, as if she was the kind of woman concerned with that sort of thing. Finally, she was left with no other option but to turn and face the one person she did not want to face that day.

The gentle look in his eyes made it all so much harder.

“They’re tulips,” he said with that smile that had melted the hearts of thousands, “I know it’s been a while but if I remember right...”

“Actually, I quite like peonies now,” it was beyond petty, but the last Peggy wanted was Steve Rogers at her door, bring her favourite flowers. She couldn’t do anything to change the first part of that equation, but it eased her conscience to know she could do something to change the second variable.

Steve shrugged. “Then for old times’ sake, I guess.”

Peggy rested her hands on her hips. “Is that everything?” His expression was so kind, so unassuming, even after all these years. Being so cold to him was like kicking a puppy. No. Worse. It was like kicking Steve Rogers- not Captain America- but Steve, the thin, asthmatic young man with the sweet smile and tireless morale.

“I came to say thank you.”

“Foy what?”

“For standing up for me. At the agency.”

“You’re Captain America. You hardly need me to stand up for you.”

“Yeah, Captain America from eighty years into the future. We both saw how the other agents reacted. Without your good word, I probably would have ended up in a cell- or under a microscope.”

“I think you could have taken them.”

“You know that’s not my style.”

Peggy couldn’t help but crack a smile. His body may have changed, but he was still, and always would be, that very same Steve she met at boot-camp. “Well, then you’re welcome. Although I think it’s SSR that should be grateful. It’s not every day we get to work with-”

“But I didn’t come here for the SSR,” Steve interrupted her.

His words hung over her head, like a guillotine waiting to drop. She knew she should deflect, change the subject- anything... but she couldn’t. “What... what did you come here for then?” His words may have been the blade, but it seemed she was to be her own executioner.

Steve stepped forward and took her hands in his. Peggy drew into herself at his touch, but not away from him. He was so real- too real.

“Peggy, if I had known, I wouldn’t have come.”

Peggy shook her head,as if it would waft this conversation out of existence. “Why did you?”

“I should have been more careful, I should have...”

“Steve,” Peggy bit out, trying to keep her breathing steady, “ _why_ did you come?”

“I came for you.”

***

It had been some months since Daniel had been in this part of California. He could hear the waves crashing against the beach just a few minute’s walk away. It must have been high tide, to hear them all the way over here.

He rolled down the car window and leaned out, looking from the whitewashed house to the restaurant Boa Comida only a few paces down the road. If he squinted hard enough, he could see his Mom and his Papai traipsing out of the front door of the house, and himself some years fresher and all smart in his freshly pressed cap and uniform, his mother sobbing into a white handkerchief, clutching his childhood teddy bear that he had refused to take with him. His father had whispered to him in Portugese that they should set off, and he had laughed in the carefree way he used to be able to laugh. There had been times later on when he wished he had just taken the damn bear.

If he squinted even longer, he could see the image of him and his cousins running from the restaurant to the house and back, engrossed in a wild game of tag- the three American cousins, Joan, Edith and Thomas, not the fifteen plus from his father’s side, at least two of whom he remembered were called Miguel. He hadn’t seen that side of the family for years, but with air travel going the way it was, who knew what would happen in the near future. As far as he knew, most of his family hadn’t been as lucky as his father in emigrating, and had remained in Portugal all their lives.

And if he left his eyes poised just right for long enough, he could watch from the perspective of an outsider as his Dad’s car rolled up, and the tiny, weather-beaten man filed out to fetch his son’s belonging’s from the car. He could see, with perfect clarity, his mother emerging from the door, her poor attempt at disguising her anguish with makeup falling away as she lifted her arthritic hands to her lips and sobbed at the sight of her son’s empty trouser leg.

But he rarely squinted for that long.

The last time he had been here had been with Peggy in June over Santos Populares. While Daniel had always considered himself more American than Portuguese, his father had been all too happy to whip up a Caldeirada and play his pot-bellied guitar all night long. Daniel’s embarrassment at these cultural idiosyncrasies mercifully did not outlast the frost. It was only three months since Peggy had taught him to _Remember, remember the fifth of November_ as they stood watching, bizarrely, a straw replica of a Catholic rebel go up in flames that warmed the biting chill of the late Autumn air...

but it felt like a lifetime ago.

Hell, the last week alone felt like it had spanned two whole lifetimes.

Daniel leaned back into the driver’s seat and rubbed his tired eyes.

He didn’t know why he had returned to his family home. He hadn’t even noticed that was where he was headed until halfway into the drive. He had been on the road for about an hour, and the sun was setting over the groves in the distance, where he knew some of his high school friends would be clearing up their tools and heading home. The ones that hadn’t been killed or maimed in the war, that is.

Daniel brushed the memory of the war from his mind. It was easy to do that here, wedged between the familiar orange groves, the beaches where he had spent his weekends, and his childhood home.

Perhaps that was why he had come. 

He let his eyes linger on the front door of his parent’s house. It would be so easy, to walk up to it and ask if he could stay for the night. They always had a room for him. He was their only child son, their hero. He could feel his mother whispering “meu herói” into his ear as she served him an unrequested second helping of Cozido. The very idea of the word made him balk.

No, he could not handle their claustrophobic affection right now. All their photographs of him from before the war, all their stories, all their tender care.

It would decimate whatever strength he had left.

More than anything, now that his head had been cleared by the good salty air, he wanted to return to Peggy. He may not have been the love of her life, but she was the love of his, and he would be damned if he gave her up that quickly.

***

For a moment, Peggy stayed put, her eyes locked with his, hands intertwined. Then, she wrenched herself free and flew into the living room. She couldn’t even see where she was going, could hardly feel her own body. She found herself, moments later, leaning on the table by the window, scrunching the gauze table runner under the radio with shaky hands. 

“Peggy, I’m sorry,” Steve’s voice drowned out the crooner on the radio.

She held up a hand, muttered a strained “No...” then felt the warmth of his hands on her back. 

“In my time, I saw an interview you did- or will do. You said you married someone. Someone we saved in Bastogne. But I never thought that Daniel... I thought maybe I would be on time.”

“Well you’re not,” Peggy choked, turning to face him, “because I’m with Daniel now.”

“I know that.”

“Then why...”

“I don’t know. Peg, it’s only been a few years for you... I have been missing your for decades. If there was any chance... I just had to try. I had to. You’re the only-”

“Don’t!” Peggy cried, tears springing to her eyes “don’t you dare, Steve Rogers! I thought you were... If I had known...” She clapped a hand to her lips.

“If you had known what, Peg?” Steve cupper her face with his hand.

Peggy shook her head. She couldn’t... not after last night. He couldn’t confirm what Daniel had said- good Lord, what _Krzeminski_ had said... if she gave even the slightest hint that there was any truth to any of it, how would she live with herself.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered. 

Steve stroked his thumb across her cheek, gently wiping her tears away. It was more than she could stand. She collapsed into his chest, so firm and warm, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her up.

“He asked me if I still love you,” Peggy said between breaths, “and I... I couldn’t answer.” She tilted her head up to look him in the eye.

“I never meant to come between you. I promise, Peg.”

“But you are! You always have been!” in a rush of emotion, she slapped his chest with her open palm. He didn’t flinch. Of course he didn’t.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean... Oh God! I mean Daniel- he thinks he can’t live up to you because… and I love Daniel, I _love_ him, but I can’t... I can’t seem to get rid of you, Steve. No matter what I do, you’re always in my mind, you’re always... _there_.”

Peggy felt a weight fall off her chest- the weight of a secret she herself didn’t know she had been carrying. It had been over a year since she had discarded the last vial of his blood into the Hudson; years since Steve had been lost in the ice... how was this realisation only striking her now?

His arms tightened around her, and he shushed her gently. The radio segued into a smooth ballad, and he began to sway with her in his arms. It felt so right, so achingly, frustratingly right. He lowered his lips to her ear, and whispered, “The band’s playing something slow,” and Peggy felt a tearful laugh escape her. Every single part of her wanted to resist, and yet every single part of her _needed_ this- exactly this.

Peggy leaned into Steve’s movement, and soon they were spinning, slowly, in time to the music, his cheek on her forehead, their hearts beating in unison. Before she knew it, she was gazing into his eyes, a smile playing on her lips, and he was leaning in for a kiss she knew she was powerless to resist. 

“I think you should leave,” Peggy whispered after they broke apart. Steve nodded, and slowly, tenderly, drew himself away from their hold. He held her gaze as he backed away, and then with one final, gentle, oh-so-Steve smile, he turned and headed out of the door, leaving Peggy alone in the living room. She allowed her eyes to close for a moment and lifted a finger up to her lips- only for a second, as the music faded, until all that was left was the silence that filled the air, the quickly drying salt of tears on her cheek and the beloved smell of coffee.


End file.
